A/T: Thanks for all your positive feedback! If I didn't have it, I'd still write, but I'd become depressed and pained at the lack of inspirational reviews and turn into one of those tortured poets. You know what I'm talking about.

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and they probably aren't yours either. Hey, let's form a club about it!

Snapshots
Act 4: Wherein The Terrible Turban is Donned and Greg's Camera Needs Cleaning

The thing about having neighbors was this one important and irrefutable fact: rarely were they decent. Ms. Rainey he could live with. Daphne he tolerated.

It was Carter in 2L that he loathed.

He still remembered when that jackass moved in a year and a half ago; then again, how could he forget? The man had marched up to the second floor with a parade of movers behind him, hauling supposedly valuable art that looked as if someone had sneezed on the canvas before sticking a price tag to it. He lugged in absurdly expensive "modern" furniture that made a cactus look comfortable. He even drug up a television with a worth so incredible that it could have fed a starving family in Africa for the next decade; however, considering he was rich and snobby, he didn't care about Africa. He used his powers for evil.

David honestly thought the man couldn't get any worse.

Indeed, Carter in 2L was the unfortunate result of two sexually active rich people with nothing better to do than overpopulate the world. And do they overpopulate the world with decent human beings? Of course they don't; they continue the Snobby Rich People bloodline where yet another generation of Snobby Rich People can overtax the American workforce, buy clothes and jewelry that's worth more than David can earn in a year, and produce spawn that sit around, hogging valuable oxygen and resources while gazing dumbly at this strange place called Earth and wondering what they hell they were doing there.

Those forced to interact with them wondered the exact same thing.

But eventually, Carter's money ran out; more specifically, his parents realized their mistake (twenty-five years too late, folks) and changed the locks on their door. He had to get a place of his own (of course, he had to choose the building David happened to be living in) and, even more horrific, he had to get a job. One that required actual work. Needless to say, the first four attempts weren't successful.

To add to his bad reputation on the second floor, he had also rejected Ms. Rainey's welcome-to-the-neighborhood casserole, claiming he didn't eat carbs, sugar, or trans fat. Frankly, he dissed the nice old lady in 2M, and that was crossing the line. It also left David to wonder what exactly Carter did eat that could be found in a garden or any natural place on the planet.

These things aside, David had considered Carter your basic, run-of-the-mill idiot. In doing so, however, David underestimated the sheer magnitude of stupid people.

Carter had become so adjusted to having everything done for him that he had automatically assumed there was daily garbage pick up; roughly translated, he would leave his trash bags outside his door and wait for someone to throw them away.

No matter how long it took.

A year and a half ago, David had watched that trash bag sit outside Carter's door for seventy-two hours until he was nearly knocked over by the odor on the fourth day. And then he did something he very rarely did: he broke. He grabbed the garbage and took it down to the dumpsters before giving that good-for-nothing land lord a piece of his mind.

And now, a year and a half later, Carter in 2L still firmly held onto the belief that the Sahara Apartment Complex had garbage pickup. Feed the stray and it'll always come back; take out a man's trash and he'll always leave another bag. Every morning he'd leave out a plastic bag and David would simply pick it up when he took out his own. It wasn't his usual style; he'd raise hell first, but trying to communicate with people like Carter was like trying to communicate with a mentally retarded chimpanzee. It just wasn't going to happen.

Being the scientist he was, he knew the odds of getting the man to grasp the fact that there wasn't any garbage pickup would be far more stressful than to just grab the bag up on his way to the elevator. He hated surrender. Then again, he also hated the thought of having to interact with a stupid person. The question was which did he hate the most?

David considered his options as he stood in the doorway of his apartment, staring at trash bag that sat waiting outside Carter's door. The damn thing was taunting him.

He heard the door to the left of him swing open. Knowing it was Daphne sticking her head out to observe the showdown, he ignored her. Her sigh that followed was one of genuine exasperation.

"Why do you always do this, Dave?"

"What, stare at a sack of garbage?"

"Exactly. Who do you think is going to blink first?"

"I've got to give credit to the bag. It beats me every time."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall right next to him, giving him a scrutinizing look. He would have returned it, but those efforts were being directed elsewhere.

"Carter really is a jerk," she finally admitted, although she rarely liked to address the bad side of people. "I'm sure you spend every waking hour planning your revenge against him."

"It took a while, but my revenge plot is all worked out."

"Oh? What does it entail?"

"A cannibalistic tribe from some far off island. And a volcano."

"Oo, nice. You get the tribe, I'll take care of the volcano."

"You're too kind, Daph. Speaking of which, guess who called me at one in the morning? Here's a hint: she wants to bake a cake for my birthday on Thursday."

Daphne visibly flinched. "Oops."

"You can join Carter when the cannibals throw him into the blazing hot lava pit."

"Let's not get too crazy here, Dave. I just accidentally let it slip when I stopped by to get Ms. Rainey's recycling."

"Unless you give me someone else to blame it on, you're on my hit list."

"Well, remember when I met that girl you work with last Christmas? Joyce? Jen?" Daphne suddenly snapped her fingers, recalling the name of the culprit. "Jacqui! That's it! She happened to mention your birthday in passing and I happened to remember it."

David finally tore his eyes away from the garbage bag. "Jacqui? She's responsible?"

"I officially put the blame on her."

David sighed. He always had a special place for Jacqui. It was a shame she had to die.

He turned and grabbed his trash from inside his apartment before locking the door behind him. There was a stretched silence between him and Daphne before he finally sighed and walked the two and a half yards it took to get to Carter's door. He grabbed the white plastic trash sack.

"Remember the cannibals and volcanoes," Daphne said encouragingly. "And hey, what kind of cake is Ms. R baking?"

"Banana," he replied. Daphne did a victory dance in the middle of the hall, her short hair ruffled and her Amnesty International t-shirt barely matching her red sneakers.

"Something tells me you're not upset by this," he dryly noted.

She sent him a big grin. "And something tells me that you've never had her banana cake!"

…

"DAVID HODGES!"

When Jacqui Franco wanted his attention, she usually had to fight for it. She was a strong woman who never backed down, but David Hodges was her equal when it came to being stubborn. When either technician wanted something out of the other, it took days of nagging to get one of them to break.

Today, she wasn't in the mood to nag. She didn't feel like fighting about it. And she certainly wasn't going to give him the luxury of being nice. No, she was on the warpath; God help any unfortunate soul who got in her way.

David heard her bellow from his seat in the laboratory before he ever saw her in person. His ears immediately perked up, trying to determine the direction she was coming from and, like any sane human being, the quickest way to escape her enraged grasp.

"DAVID!"

West. Definitely west.

He could see Archie furrow his brows and look up curiously from his own A/V lab, the glass walls giving him a perfect view. Archie paused a moment before glancing towards David, sending him a What have you done now? look from across the hallway.

David knew she'd check the lab first before sniffing him out through the break room and then the lockers. No place was safe unless some magical carpet suddenly appeared to whisk him away.

Tests were running. Lunchtime was near. He knew he'd have a few precious minutes to make a break for it… and make a break for it he did. Down the east hallway; too far down would be a dead end. He made a sharp right into the break room and- wait, what was this? A miracle? No, it was the storage closet and it was mercifully empty enough to hold one person.

He quickly bypassed Nick and Bobby, both of whom were downing their lunch. They shot him a confused look before shooting the same look to each other.

"You didn't see me and you don't know where I am," David instructed before closing the closet door behind him. The small space was dark and cramped, but he pressed his ear to the door, waiting for Jacqui's bid for blood. He didn't have to wait long.

Outside, Jacqui poked her head into the break room, shooting both Nick and Bobby an accusing glare. Her eyes passed over the room, searching for her prey. She sniffed. David Hodges's spicy yet subtle cologne had been here. Her victim was close by.

"Where's that little snot hiding? And don't think you can protect him either," she said, shooting Nick a dangerous look, aware that only he was selfless enough to risk his life for someone else in a situation like this.

"Little snot?" Nick asked innocently. "You mean Greg?"

"No, I don't mean Greg! I mean David!"

"Phillips?"

"HODGES!"

"Hodges? Can't say I've seen him."

"Stokes, do you want to live to see the sunrise?"

"Preferably."

"All I need's a location. Janitor's closet? Archie's lab? Men's toilet stall?"

"Truthfully, I wouldn't know."

"Does he think he can hide in the men's restrooms? Do you honestly think I won't go in there?"

"I have no doubt that you would."

Jacqui walked into the room and leaned close to him, their noses almost touching. Her eyes were steely; her voice held the promise of imminent doom for the one who hid her victim's location.

"Where. Is. He."

Nick took a slow breath before shooting a bewildered look Bobby's way. Bobby only shook his head in warning before hiding behind his newspaper. Obviously, he had been on the bad end of Jacqui once. He didn't want to go through it again.

"What did he do?" Nick asked, resisting the unmanly urge to shrink away.

"You'll find out at his funeral," she darkly replied.

Okay, that was it. He wasn't dying for this. "Storage closet," he supplied without hesitation. He was sure that David Hodges led a good life and he was even more certain that they would mention that at his wake.

Jacqui made a rapid turn and stalked over to the door, gripped the knob, and tore it open.

"Do you think I didn't notice that you broke into my locker? Again?" she asked as she reached into the closet, grabbing the collar of his dark blue lab coat and hauling him out into plain view. Nick was thoroughly perplexed, but it seemed that Bobby had the good sense not to even ask.

"Woman, do you mind?" David asked, trying to loosen the grip she had on him.

"Mind? David, I don't even want to know what you did with my stockings."

"Then don't ask. Now would you let go-''

"Do you know how much they cost a pair? Do you?"

"More than my life, obviously."

"A stick of gum costs more than your life, Dave."

"How sweet. Need I remind you of the ten bucks that went missing out of my locker last week?"

Jacqui paused a moment, as if just remembering that she had, in fact, borrowed a pair of fives out of her friend's wallet. Nevertheless, her vice grip on his collar didn't loosen.

"Doesn't matter," she decided. "I needed those hose!"

"What were they, sentimental? I'll buy you another pair," he said, still trying to tug at her hold.

"I ruined my others yesterday. What good does that do me now?"

"You tell me. Now would you please-''

"Are you going to force me to change my locker combination?"

"Like that'll stop me."

"David!"

"Jacq, you're upset. I get it. Last night, you ripped your first pair. You go to your locker only to find that an unknown culprit has taken your backups. There's a reason you're so upset, but if you'd just shave your legs once in a while then you wouldn't have to wear-''

"DAVID!" she screeched, clamping her other hand over his mouth. She quickly turned to Nick, ignoring Bobby. Bobby didn't look the least bit surprised at the news and continued to dutifully read his paper. "You didn't just hear that," she said, as if commanding Nick to erase the last ten seconds from his memory.

Nick gave her another innocent look. "Who, me? Of course I didn't. I was paying attention to that wall over there."

Jacqui turned angrily to her hostage before smacking her palm against his head. "What were you thinking saying that, huh? Not everyone needs to know!"

"I've never had the heart to say this, but you're pretty violent when you want to be."

"Heart? David Hodges, you have no heart. If you had any sort of emotion, you would have never forced me to go around the rest of the night with… torn hose, okay? You know you're payment for this, don't you?"

David shot her a look that Nick could only label as truly horrified. "You wouldn't."

She leaned in closer, her voice taking on a deadly quality that Bobby flinched at. "Wouldn't I?"

There was a silence before someone cleared their throat from behind her. Jacqui's head shot up and she spun around, coming face to face with her boss.

She gave him a small, nervous laugh. Grissom didn't seem upset that a murder was about to be committed in their very own lab; as a matter of fact, he seemed almost interested in these strange beings known as lab technicians. He shot her a curious look as she slowly began making her way around the older man, dragging David behind her.

"What?" she asked, defensively. "You're a man! Why don't you guys have to shave your legs, huh? What's the deal with that? They say we're liberated women but we're actually suppressed by men and their needs for an ideally attractive female."

Grissom nodded gravely. "I understand."

"You've been reading those feminist books again, haven't you?" David muttered. She shot him a look that would have sent any other mere mortal scampering the other direction.

…

"So that's your payment?" a voice asked. "I can't believe she's actually making you wear that thing."

David shot Nick a steely look from his place in the lab. A few hours had passed since the incident in the break room and the moment Jacqui had gotten them back to their respective domain, she had slammed the dreaded swami hat on his head. Lab technicians throughout the building sent their genuine sympathies his direction.

"Although the odds aren't in my favor, I am trying to keep as much dignity in tact as possible. Pointing out the fact that I'm wearing a ridiculously tacky eyesore isn't helping my cause much."

Nick tried to hide his laughter behind a cough. "Sorry. I almost feel responsible for this considering you hacked into her locker for me."

"I can see you're all broken up about it."

Nick couldn't hide his laughter any longer. He took one long look at the technician before a smile the size of Texas grew on his lips and before he knew it, he was sitting on one of the labs uncomfortable barstools, trying to control himself. Honestly, it was the ugliest headpiece anyone had ever seen; the kicker was that the Great and Mighty Hodges was forced into wearing it. These types of instances were rare but not completely unheard of.

"Man, you labrats are like a while different species. I don't make Warrick go around wearing a swami hat."

"This hat isn't just any hat. It symbolizes a whole slew of sentimental crap that Jacqui's thought up the past couple of years."

"It seems to be used as a punishment."

"That's because she knows I hate sentimentality. And let's face it: gold plated dog crap looks better. Now can we move on?"

"I would, but this is just so priceless."

David shot him a warning look and knew the subject had to be changed lest he be taunted for eternity. "So what part of 'Jacqui's coming, don't tell her where I am' didn't you understand?" David asked conversationally, trying to ignore the way Nick grinned at him from his seat.

"Oh, I'd say when my well-being was seriously put into jeopardy."

"Remind me never to put my life in your hands. Gutless much?"

"Hey, I wasn't the one hiding in a storage closet."

Damn, Nick had him there. He was about to address the fact that Nick still had to wear that ridiculous eye patch when he was interrupted. There was a knock on the door frame of the lab before Greg leaned in, grinning at them both before cringing at the sight of Jacqui's demanded payment that now adorned David's head.

"Whoa. Did you kill Jacq's dog or something?" he asked, wincing empathetically. He too had known the torment of Jacqui's wrath.

"Sanders," David acknowledged once Greg had arrived. "What can you bother me with today?"

"Y'know, you always act as if you're never happy to see me or something," Greg replied, grinning wider and strutting in.

"There are too many ways to answer that. Don't make me choose."

"Ah, our usual trade of wits begins. What are you doing here anyway?"

"My job. Maybe you've heard of one."

Greg gave him a surprised look. "I thought you were supposed to be at the scene."

"Why would I be there?"

"The SOS is still loud and clear. Everyone's getting ready to head out to that restaurant."

David paused a moment before shooting him an equally puzzled glance. "I thought that was a one time thing. Need I remind you that I'm not really qualified to be out there?"

"The first night we were just understaffed and last night Sofia was here, but she's got a couple days leave. You're our extra hand until she gets back. Flattered?"

"That's not exactly the word that comes to mind," he muttered as he removed Jacqui's punishment from his head and placed it next to his station.

Greg grinned again before waving him over. "I'll drive you. And Nicky, since he's blind."

"Only temporarily," Nick interrupted. "When I get there I'm taking this patch off."

"And should you be doing that?" David asked, peeling off his lab coat and beginning to follow Greg to the lockers.

Nick shrugged as he trailed next to them. "It feels better. Besides, I can't work a scene wearing this thing anyway."

Greg gave him a smile. "Then it's a good thing we'll be there to help you out, isn't it?"

…

Greg's car pulled up to the scene; the restaurant was just as David remembered it, but he somehow felt more confident being there. Perhaps it was because he was armed with two qualified CSIs or maybe because he didn't spot Sheriff Atwater sniffing around. What's better, he wasn't given the impression that everyone was staring, wondering what a lab tech was doing in the field.

"Ah, the job beckons," said Greg, taking a deep breath of air as he slammed his door shut. "Y'know, there are some people who sit at computers all day. How can anyone want anything other than this?"

"Hm. Death and despair was what the American dream was built on," David replied, rolling his eyes when Greg shot him a large, goofy grin. "How someone couldn't want this in their life every day is beyond me."

Nick (obviously noting the beginnings of a snark war) quickly interfered. "You guys gonna snap at each other all night or start processing?" he inquired, giving them both a pointed look.

"Duty calls," muttered Greg, letting out a melodramatic sigh. "I guess we could- wait, hold the elevator," he said, pausing in his trek to the scene. David was about to comment on Greg's ridiculous expression of holding the elevator what he caught sight of an even more ridiculous Greg staring inquisitively at the camera, as if expecting to fix the problem with his scrutinizing gaze alone.

"What's up?" Nick asked, following David's example and turning to watch Greg.

"There's something on my camera lens," the other man replied, blowing on the affected area in an attempt to clear it off. "It's all specky."

"Specky?" David asked, clearly unimpressed with the choice of vocabulary. "I can't believe you passed the proficiency test with words like that."

Greg grinned. "I dazzled them with my charm and wit instead."

"Sanders, didn't your mother ever teach you that it was wrong to lie?"

"Hodges, those words cut deep."

"It's moments like these that your professional attitudes really shine through. Now am I gonna have to separate you two?" Nick asked, not exactly thrilled with their progress.

"I don't want crime scene photos with specks on them, oh master. Give the genius a moment," Greg replied, pulling a lens cloth from his field kit and beginning to lightly rub the circular glass.

"You're using the term 'genius' pretty loosely, aren't you?" asked David.

Greg stuck his tongue out childishly. "Why don't you do something useful, like catch up on the case? Nicky's the walking encyclopedia. I merely steal his credit and reap the rewards."

Nick turned to David, rolling his eyes at Greg's goofiness before giving David a small smile. "You'll probably need a general outline anyway," the Texan admitted. Wow. They were even bothering to tell him what was going on. Was he moving up in the world or what?

"There are worse ways I could be wasting my time."

"I'm taking that as your way of saying 'go ahead and explain'."

"Three years of working together and you're finally catching the hints."

Nick merely shook his head before gesturing to the restaurant twenty yards away. "We're pretty sure this is only where the bodies were stored, not where the actual crimes were committed. As you already know, those women were found in the freezer by the real estate agent who was actually trying to sell this dump."

"The freezer was working?" David asked, surprised. "In a place like this?"

Nick smiled again. "The restaurant's falling apart, but it's still on the power grid. It can get electricity. All you have to do is flip the switch."

"I have a feeling this little slice of architectural heaven is in violation of some serious building codes," David muttered, absorbing the overgrown shrubs, busted walls, rotting floors, missing roof, shattered windows, and basic decay.

Nick laughed. "Sara gets to do that fun research. I guess the killer never thought anyone would want the building, so he started using it for his home base. We found a whole bunch of religious pictures and statues. We think this might be the work of a religious zealot on another crusade."

"Religious pictures? Like photographs?"

"More like paintings, I guess you'd say."

David mulled this over in his head. Far be it for him to start pitching theories and using his basic reasoning skills, but it couldn't hurt to ask. "Were these paintings gold?"

Nick lifted an eyebrow. "Been snooping through some crime photos, Hodges?"

"Secretly leafing through piles of crime photos is the epitome of my career, Stokes. I'm surprised you haven't caught on my now."

Nick shot him a look of genuine amusement. His deep brown eyes a sparkle of life that had been missing the first few months after… after the night he was buried. David resisted the urge to look away. "I surrender," Nick replied, admitting his wit could never match that of the Master's. "Yes, they were gold. Most of the subject matter was either Jesus or Madonna and Child."

"Not that I know anything outside the realm of trace," David said, giving Nick a small shrug, "But they could be ikons. I-K-O-N-S."

"Spell it with a K? Why?"

"It's Russian, which means it's pretty phonetic. Personally, I'm still wondering how 'ph' ever replaced the letter 'f' in the alphabet."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff."

"My grandmother was Russian," David replied. "You can't see them, but there are holes in my head where she drilled in the entire history and culture of my family."

Nick paused a moment, as if he knew what he wanted to say but was uncertain on whether or not to voice it. The moments stretched on and David realized that they had never had an awkward silence like this. What, was there something on his face? Did he say something wrong? Considering his past history, the latter wouldn't be so incredibly hard to believe.

Finally, Nick spoke. "You wanna help me go over some scene photos?" he asked, his voice uncertain. "You've got the eye, man. It's not just the ikons either. There are elements of Europe everywhere in this scene."

David took a breath. He could manage a table covered with photos. Very few social skills were involved when staring at pictures.

"I'll have to check my schedule. Oh, look, I'm free."

"I'm sure the hot date you had to cancel is crying a river."

"You really push the envelope, don't you Stokes?"

"Learned from the best, Hodges."

"Ah, the stinging retort." He was silent for a minute, debating the offer in his head. What did he have to lose? If anything, at least he could be useful solving a case and despite what many thought, he cared about the outcome. He wanted the bad guys behind bars just as badly as the next person.

"Fine. If you need help with the photos, I'll cancel all hot dates and assist in any way I can." He held up his hand as Nick opened his mouth to speak. "And remember that this will never happen again. As a matter of fact, my assistance during this case is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Document it somewhere so you can prove to future generations that this even happened in the first place."

"I'm honored."

"The tone in your voice clearly indicates otherwise."

Nick grinned. "Fine. Tomorrow around seven? I can just follow you to your place."

Wait, when had his apartment become part of this? At what point had his place of residence been included? No one, save for Ms. Rainey and Daphne, had ever seen the inside of his domain. It needed to be cleaned and organized and sure, it wasn't like he took the Greg Sander's Course in Organizing, but there were still some magazines being used as makeshift drink coasters. Be calm here, David. Pretend Nick is a guy offering drugs and just say no.

"Yeah, sure."

What the hell? His mouth obviously wasn't communicating with his brain. That hadn't happened since high school, when he tried to ask Leslie Cabot to the prom and ended up baby-sitting her little brother so she could go with Marcus Sinclair, a nice enough fellow who tried to shove David into lockers once or twice. Needless to say, Marcus only tried a couple of times until he realized that, although not exactly a body builder, David could give a good black eye if he wanted.

Nick gave him a half smile. "'Kay then. Thanks for helping out."

"Just don't let the word slip. The rumor that I'm nice will ruin me."

David suddenly felt the telltale prickle in his skin; the sign of someone watching him. He tore his gaze away from Nick just in time to be blinded by Greg's camera flash, gray dots now floating in front of his eyes.

"Sanders, must you?" he asked, a note of irritation coloring his voice. Greg shot him another cheeky grin as Nick began laughing at their antics.

"Aw, Hodgie. It's moments like these you want to remember all your life."

"I told you not to call me names like that!"

"Hodge-podge?"

"Sanders."

"Hodgey-wodgey?"

"Don't make me do something I'll regret."

"Davey-wavey?"

"Greg Sanders!"

…

Six hours later, Greg took a glance at the photo. The speck he'd been trying to wipe off from the lens was still in the corner of the picture, but the end result was remarkably clear and well lit despite it. The sky was black but the headlights from police cars and flashlights in their hands made the swirling dust and fog appear blue, like mist.

It was a picture he'd accidentally caught, but it seemed as if David had felt Greg's watchful eye through the camera lens and had turned to face him a moment before the flash went off. Nick hadn't the time to see what caught David's attention before Greg snapped the photo; the result was David looking into the lens and Nick staring at David with dark eyes. They were standing close together and had been in a deep conversation before Greg had interrupted it.

Greg took a closer look. David had the most incredibly blue eyes, pale skin, dark hair. The night fog that billowed between them made them look as if they were part of some dream that reality couldn't touch.

He broke into a small smile. What was David's locker number again? He supposed it didn't matter as he slipped the picture into Nick's locker instead.

You'll make this all less confusing.
it's a slow dive down,
a fast distraction,
a strange fall forward -
my lame reaction.

Snow Day, Lisa Loeb

TBC.